


The Wraith in the Hills

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: The Wraith [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Third Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21839419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Arda is a bit too peaceful for the reborn Glorfindel, so when he hears rumors of a wraith-like creature that lives near Bree, he goes on a hunt.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Glorfindel, Glorfindel & Maeglin | Lómion
Series: The Wraith [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1578712
Comments: 27
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the Third Age, with the canon that Glorfindel wasn’t reembodied until after the end of the Second Age.

_“I’m positive it can’t be a wraith,” Elrond had said when Glorfindel had questioned him._

_“The locals aren’t so positive,” he had retorted. Only recently returned from Aman, he was practically bursting with curiosity about everything in the changed Arda._

_“Because I know a man who shot it, and it screamed,” Elrond had replied._

_“Did he kill it?”_

_Elrond had shaken his head. “A blunt arrow,” he’d explained._

Glorfindel had only been more interested and was not at all dissuaded by Elrond’s repeated attempts to tell him not to investigate. If anything, it only piqued his interest.

_“No one has managed to find it,” he would say. “Not in all the years it’s been there.”_

_“Well they weren’t me,” he’d argued._

Since the wraith was most often seen in the small chain of hills between Rivendell and Bree, with occasional sightings in the woods closer to Rivendell, that was where Glorfindel started his search.

He saw was nothing but animal prints at first, but that didn’t deter him. There had to be something. Anything. He vaguely considered that it might be traveling through the trees, but the way Elrond described it, though that was unlikely.

_“Why is it called the wraith of the hills?” he’d asked._

_“Because horrible, deformed creature that lives to the west is a mouthful.”_

_“What does it look like?”_

_“I’ve only ever seen it at a distance - I’m not even entirely certain it was the wraith - but it was hunched and twisted.”_

_“An orc?”_

_Elrond had shaken his head. “It’s too old for a single orc, and those who have gotten closer claim it has the face of an elf.”_

_“It’s not-”_

_“Kanafinwe? No. I’m positive of that.”_

He’d never asked why Elrond was so positive, talking about the Feanorian only seemed to distress him. Instead, he set off only knowing that he was hunting some sort of deformed creature that was not an orc, but could be an elf.

At least he hoped it wasn’t an orc.

Finally, after a week of searching, he found tracks. They could have belonged to the wraith, given the descriptions people had given him. They were bare footprints where one foot was normal and the other dragged behind it.

He set off after them.

Whatever the creature was, it wasn’t agile at all, breaking limbs as it went. Glorfindel murmured apologies to the damaged trees, soothing their wounds. He found evidence that the creature could hunt, traps it had laid out to catch game, but nothing that told him anything he didn’t know.

The third day of following the prints, weaving this way and that through the mountains, he found signs of an accident. The edge of the path had crumbled away, and when he investigated at the bottom of the hill, he found blood.

“Its hurt,” he muttered to himself.

The trail was easier to follow after that. The creature was clearly stumbling, he found more broken branches and missteps. But most troubling, he found more blood.

“If I find this thing and it’s dead,” he grumbled, shaking his head. Elrond would laugh at him if that were the case. But if it wasn’t dead, what was he going to do with it?

He had a sudden image of a deformed mummy, wrapped in crumbling bandages, in Elrond’s halls of healing.

Glorfindel shook his head.

Whatever it was, he wouldn’t let it suffer. If he had to, he’d put it out of its misery.

Finally the tracks led him to a cave. He stopped at the entrance, peering inside. He could sense that something alive was in there, but it’s soul was in tatters. He pulled his consciousness back, frightened. Whatever he’d touched felt more like an orc than anything else, but at the same time, he was more certain than ever it wasn’t an orc.

But it was scared.

It knew it was being hunted, and that its injury was severe.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Glorfindel called quietly. He used the common tongue first, but when that got no reply, he tried again in Sindarin. Then, finally, Quenya.

“Out!” He wasn’t certain what to think when the Wraith spoke in fluent Sindarin. “Leave me be!” It was a masculine voice, but muffled, as though the speaker had a mouth full of cotton.

“I’m unarmed,” he said, unbuckling his sword belt and dropping it beside the entrance. “I know you’re injured.”

A rock flew at his head. Whatever it was, it could see in the dark.

Glorfindel could as well, and the glow from his skin brightened the cave. Reaching the back, he found the so-called Wraith of the Hills cowering, a knife in its hand. It was an elf, and a male at that, he was more certain of that than ever, but it was clearly maimed. One arm hung uselessly at his side, and one leg was twisted and crooked. Most of his skin was covered by filthy rags that had been stitched into the shape of a loose robe. A scarf hid most of his face.

He couldn’t tell which injuries were new and which were old, but the pain the man was in was evident.

“My name is Glorfindel-”

Another rock flew at him, this one bouncing off his chest. “I know who you are,” the Wraith snarled. “Out!”

Glorfindel stepped forward. “Shhh,” he said. “I’m your friend.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Just set the knife down. I have supplies. I can heal you.”

The Wraith didn’t move. As close as he was, Glorfindel located the new injury, on its limp arm. “You’re losing a lot of blood,” he said. “Let me bandage it.”

He caught the hand with the knife and gently pulled the weapon away, dropping it on the ground. “See? I mean you no harm.”

The Wraith tried to pull away, but it was too weak, and Glorfindel easily led him toward the mouth of the cave. “We can clean your wounds in the stream,” he said, wrapping his arm around the elf. “And then I’ll bandage it and be on my way.”

As much as he wanted to stay with the Wraith to learn more about it, it was obvious he was distressing it. “Or, you can come with me-”

“No!” The Wraith tried to pull away, losing his footing and falling to the ground.

Glorfindel knelt beside him. “Its blood loss,” he said gently. “Let me help you.”

Frightened black eyes stared back at him. “You- no! You wouldn’t want to help me-”

“I promise. I want to help you.”

The Wraith pulled away, stepping into the sunlight and pulling down the scarf that had covered its face. “You’re sure?” Maeglin snarled. There was no mistaking his high cheekbones, or his black eyes, even with layers of dirt and grime over it. 

Glorfindel could do nothing but stare. “You’re dead,” he managed.

“I could say the same of you,” Maeglin retorted.

“You fell off the wall,” he said, taking several deep breaths to steady himself.

“I was thrown,” Maeglin retorted.

The Golden Lord ran his hand through his hand, shaking his head. “You survived?”

“Clearly.”

Maeglin sat on a fallen log, then gestured to his wounded arm. “Stab me or heal me, just do it quick,” he said.

“I’m not going to kill you!” he said quickly, hurrying forward. “I gave you my word.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you rescinded it.”

He ripped away the remains of Maeglin’s shirt, exposing the wound. A horrible stench wafted from it, and he frowned. “I can’t heal this,” Glorfindel said quietly.

“You promised,” Maeglin snapped.

“This is well beyond my skill.” The wound was already beginning to decay, and he suspected it had been injured before Maeglin’s tumble down the slope, and only worsened. “The flesh is dying,” he said.

“Then cut it off.”

“It may have spread to the muscle and bone beneath.”

“Cut it off,” Maeglin repeated. “All of it.” 

Realizing he meant the entire arm, Glorfindel's stomach churned. “My friend is a healer,” he said again. “Let me take you to him.”

“No.”

Glorfindel sighed. “Very well,” he said softly. “Let me give you something for the pain.” He dug through his pouch, finding a small vial and removing the cork. Maeglin allowed him to pour it into his mouth.

He sat beside him on the log. “We’ll have to wait for it to set in.”

“How long?” Maeglin asked tersely.

“Soon.”

It was a strong potion, and Maeglin was already exhausted. Already he could tell it was setting in as the smith swayed and grabbed at the log. “What did you give me?” he demanded. “I- I can’t.”

“A mild sedative.”

Maeglin was clearly struggling to keep conscious, but Glorfindel scooped him up easily. “I’ll wake you once we’re in Rivendell,” he promised.


	2. Chapter 2

Maeglin drifted in and out of consciousness as they rode, but he was never strong enough to fight back or protest, only to complain and gripe. He would ignore the elf and instead give him bits of food.

Glorfindel kept a brutal pace, often jogging beside the horse to spare it the weight of two riders. But Maeglin was still weakening.

He had slowed the horse to a walk when Maeglin began to gasp, writhing and struggling for air.

“No!” Glorfindel whispered. He jumped out of the saddle and laid the wounded elf on the ground beside him, pressing on his chest to force air into his lungs. “Don’t you dare, you brat,” he said.

But Maeglin remained still.

With nothing else to do, Glorfindel reached for his weak life force, wrapping it in his own and pushing a bit of himself into the weaken elf. “Take it,” he murmured as Maeglin thrashed. “Whatever you need.”

Once Maeglin’s breathing returned to normal, he got him back into the saddle, then jumped up behind him. “Let’s go,” he murmured to his mount.

Having Maeglin leeching off his life force was exhausting, but he could think of no other way to keep the elf alive until Rivendell.

When the valley appeared on the horizon, Glorfindel dismounted and led his horse on foot for the rest of the journey, keeping Maeglin in the saddle with a length of rope.

Elrond met him in the courtyard, giving a curious look to Maeglin, slumped in the saddle.

“The Wraith,” Glorfindel explained.

“Seems to be an elf.”

“Seems to be your damn cousin.” Glorfindel cut the rope that was holding him in place and tugged him off the saddle, catching him before he hit the ground. “You knew,” he accused as Elrond only stood in silence.

“I had my suspicions,” was all the healer would say.

“And didn’t think to warn me?”

Elrond only shrugged.

The fall from the saddle seemed to have woken him, and Maeglin blinked in the light. “No, no,” he mumbled. “Just cut it.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow.

“He wanted me to cut off his arm.” Glorfindel explained, sitting Maeglin on the pavement and glancing over him to make sure he hadn't reopened his arm. 

The healer nodded. “Bring him inside.”

When Glorfindel moved to pick him up, Maeglin pushed against him. “I can walk,” he complained, but his words slurred together.

“No, you can’t.”

The injured elf was unconscious by the time they reached the Halls of Healing, and Elrond motioned for Glorfindel to sit him on a bed. “What are his injuries?”

“His leg is an old wound, it just healed poorly. The arm is what worries me.”

Elrond cut away the rest of his shirt, studying the wound thoughtfully. “This is an old wound, the infection is very deep. In the bone, most likely.”

“Can you save it?” Glorfindel asked, covering his nose to hide the stench of rotting flesh.

“Of course I can.” Elrond strode away, messing in cabinets and assembling his supplies. “What have you given him?”

“A sedative to knock him out, but I’ve been using a bit of my own power to keep him asleep since then.” He’d worried that Maeglin was too weak to handle any more medication and that keeping him drugged would kill him.

Elrond nodded, seeming to be of the same assessment. “And siphoning your power to keep him alive?” he guessed.

“He would have died otherwise.”

“I can’t disagree with that assessment.” He sat beside Maeglin, then looked at Glorfindel curiously. “How are you feeling?”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’m going to cut away the infection. If you could keep him calm-”

Glorfindel nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

Elrond carefully washed the wound before he began. Glorfindel had to look away as he picked up a pair of delicate scissors and began to cut at the flesh. Maeglin gave a soft moan, and Glorfindel pushed as much energy as he dared into him.

Elrond worked in silence, only pausing occasionally to check on Glorfindel. “How bad is it?” Glorfindel asked, still staring out the window.

“Worse than it smells,” was all Elrond would say.

Finally, when the sun was beginning to dip in the sky, Elrond set his knife aside. “I believe the infection is gone,” he said. “I’ll pack the wound and cover it with bandages. With any luck, it will grow back and he will be able to use it normally.”

“What about his leg?” Glorfindel asked.

“The Wraith has always walked strangely.”

“I’ve seen you do wonders for old injuries.”

Elrond cut away his pants, running an appraising eye over the mangled leg. It looked worse than Glorfindel had expected, the bone clearly jutting at odd angles. “The bone was fractured and set poorly, if at all,” Elrond said. “Limping has damaged the muscles in his ankle and hip.”

“Is there nothing you could do for it?”

The healer frowned. “I could rebreak the leg and attempt to set it properly, then work on softening the muscles, perhaps. But I won’t.”

“Why not?” Glorfindel demanded.

“It’s one thing to save his life without his permission, I’m not about to mess with old wounds just to please you.”

“You didn’t see what I saw,” Glorfindel argued.

“What did you see?”

Glorfindel sighed. “After I knocked him out, I went back to search the cave he’d been living in. To see if he had any possessions.”

“And?”

“His sword and a bit of dried meat.” He shrugged. “When I followed his tracks, it was evident he was struggling. Before I knew who he was - when I thought he was some malformed creature - I contemplated killing him, just to put him out of his misery.”

“While I won’t say his life has been pleasant, I still won’t perform any unneeded surgeries without speaking to him.”

“And if he wants to leave?” Glorfindel asked.

“I’m not a jailer,” Elrond replied. “If you have some grievance against him, that is between you, him, and the Valar-”

“That’s not what this is about!” Glorfindel pushed himself to his feet. “Forget who he is, if he were anyone else-”

“I would still let him choose.” Elrond looked down at Maeglin’s face with a frown. “There was a reason I didn’t tell you what I knew about him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted you to leave him there.”

“You think he’s a monster?”

Elrond shook his head. “I think you’re conflicted. You won’t refer to him by name, you won’t look at his face, you won’t admit-”

“That he betrayed me to Morgoth?”

“That,” Elrond said softly. He washed his hands in a bowl of water as he spoke, “I was afraid of what you would do if you found him. If you would leave or harm him, and grow to hate yourself for it, or if you would try to aid him, and be forced to accept defeat.”

“I’m not going to accept defeat.”

“He won’t stay,” Elrond said, turning to give Glorfindel a pitying look. He folded his arms over his chest with a sigh. “I- I don’t advertise this,” he said cagily. “But I am in contact with Kanafinwe rather regularly.”

“Any other secrets you’re keeping?” Glorfindel asked, throwing up his hands. “Do you know where Daeron is, perhaps?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Elrond said, clearly enjoying the frustrated noise Glorfindel made at the admission. “I asked Kanafinwe to look into the Wraith, before I knew what it was.”

“He found him?”

Elrond nodded. “They had a tussle of some sort - someone was stabbed, Kanafinwe was rather hesitant to tell me which of them - and then they sat and talked.”

“One of them was stabbed?” Glorfindel repeated.

Elrond nodded. “As I said, I don’t know which.” He seemed unconcerned, continuing, “Kanafinwe wasn’t pleased when he discovered who he was-”

“Hypocrite.”

“And told him on no uncertain terms to stay away from me. I believe threats of more stabbing and perhaps castration was involved.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Remind me why people think he’s the gentle one?” he asked.

“Because he wants them to,” Elrond said with a smile.

“So he won’t stay because your kidnapper threatened him?” Glorfindel asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh no,” Elrond said, shaking his head. “He won’t stay because, as he told Kanafinwe, he refuses to have anything to do with the Eldar anymore.”

Glorfindel forced himself to look at Maeglin’s sleeping face, sighing. “So where is Daeron?” he asked finally.

“Lindir,” Elrond said, hiding a smile.

“Can’t be.”

“How would you know? You never met him before your death.”


	3. Chapter 3

Glorfindel spent most of the next day training, hitting training dummies with his sword until they fell apart.

“Lord Elrond’s looking for you.” He stopped and turned, giving an irritated look to the messenger. “He said it’s important.”

He wanted nothing more than to tell the messenger exactly where he could stick the message, but instead, he swallowed and nodded. “Thank you,” he said through gritted teeth.

Elrond was sitting beside Maeglin’s bed, the elf’s wounded arm laid out beside him.

“How is he?” Glorfindel asked, leaning against the doorframe and trying to keep his distance.

“He was awake earlier. But still delirious.” Elrond straightened up, then motioned for Glorfindel to come closer. “I loathe to leave him alone, but I cannot stay with him.” Realizing that the healer had been with Maeglin since the night before, a feeling of guilt washed over him.

But at the thought of staying with Maeglin, Glorfindel’s insides churned uncomfortably. “I’m not certain-”

“Please,” Elrond said softly. “I could have someone else, but if he wakes-”

“He won’t be happy to see me,” Glorfindel said quickly.

“From what I gathered of his ramblings earlier, he thinks you’re a hallucination. Or perhaps that he, himself is a hallucination.” Elrond shook his head. “Either way, I think he would be better-”

“Fine.” Glorfindel sighed, gritting his teeth. “Just let me get a book.” 

* * *

“I don’t know when he’ll wake,” Elrond said, once Glorfindel had returned. “You’ve given him a great deal of power, which has sped the healing process, but even then-”

“He almost died,” Glorfindel finished.

Elrond nodded. Then he paused, studying Glorfindel curiously. “Do you hate him?”

“No,” Glorfindel shrugged. “I left all of that behind when they released me from Mandos.”

“But you’re still conflicted?”

“I should hate him,” Glorfindel admitted after a moment. “I should be angry with him. But-” he sighed, looking down at the pale elf on the bed. “I just want to know why.”

“Oh?” Elrond asked. “I can answer that.”

Glorfindel folded his arms over his chest. “Do tell.”

“His father murdered his mother while trying to kill him, then his uncle killed his father. Then, to make it worse, he had to live with his uncle.”

“You cannot be blaming Turgon!”

Elrond shrugged. “From what I can tell, my great-grandfather was not the most attentive guardian-”

“Maeglin was an adult-”

The healer seemed unimpressed. “Everyone knew he was in love with my grandmother, yes?”

“He didn’t hide it! It was an open secret! We didn’t discuss-”

“You didn’t discuss it.” Elrond deadpanned, raising an eyebrow. “Someone should have helped him, talked to him.” His voice was suddenly quiet, and Glorfindel had to strain to hear his next words, “He needed a parental figure that wouldn’t abandon him, although, I suppose it runs in the family.”

Before Glorfindel could press the subject, Elrond was on his feet and out the door. “Let me know if he needs me,” he called over his shoulder. “If he wakes, give him some broth.”

Glorfindel sighed and dropped onto the chair the healer had vacated, giving the unconscious elf an irritated look. “Brat,” he said.

He had a hard time focusing on his book, constantly checking on Maeglin out of the corner of his eye. But the elf didn’t move. In fact, he barely seemed to breathe.

Elrond was correct in one thing: he hadn’t fully processed what was happening. He’d tried not to, in fact. Not until he could talk to Maeglin.

He glanced at the sleeping elf, then placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Someone - most likely Elrond - had cleaned him up, and in the daylight, when he wasn’t covered in grime, he could better measure how sickly Maeglin was.

The former prince - but he supposed Maeglin was technically still a prince - was horrifically underweight. Although a blanket covered most of him, he could see scars on his chest, arms, and even one that went from his forehead to his left cheek.

Then, Maeglin’s eyes opened.

Glorfindel couldn’t look away quick enough, and Maeglin stared at him, blinking slowly. “Where-” he began.

“Rivendell,” Glorfindel said, closing his book slowly.

Maeglin nodded.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

Glorfindel nodded. He didn’t know what else to say, although he knew that he needed to say something. Finally, he swallowed and said, “I’m supposed to make you eat.”

“Fine.”

Elrond had left the broth near the fire, so it was still warm when Glorfindel poured it into a cup and brought it to Maeglin. Although the elf reached for it with his good hand, Glorfindel brushed him away, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding the glass to his lips. “Open your mouth.”

He slowly poured the liquid into Maeglin’s mouth, then paused, letting him swallow, before giving him a bit more. They repeated the process until Maeglin had managed to drink most of the glass, then he set it aside.

The simple act of eating seemed to have worn Maeglin out, and he yawned.

“What happened to your arm?” Glorfindel asked, unable to stand the silence.

“Pissed off a bear,” Maeglin replied.

“Why?”

“I wanted honey.” His face flushed red, although, for the first time since Glorfindel had found him, it didn’t seem to be from fever.

“You liked honeyed pastries,” Glorfindel said slowly, the memory coming back to him. “I caught you stealing one, once.” A grin spread over his lips. “I paid for it to keep you out of trouble.”

Maeglin had nothing to say to that, turning his head away from Glorfindel. “You used to steal things a lot,” Glorfindel recalled.

“Hmm,” was all Maeglin would say.

“Why?” He’d never thought to ask before. It had just been something he was aware of. Another thing that everyone had ignored. It had been well known that if Maeglin stole something, you should just let him and Turgon would reimburse it.

Maeglin remained silent.

Glorfindel patted his good shoulder. “Let me tell Elrond you’re awake,” he said, standing. “I’ll be back.”

He found Elrond in his study, pouring over a map. “Sightings of the Wraith,” he explained, stepping aside so Glorfindel could examine it.

Red dots marked the surface, each one listing who had reported it. _A Mortal Farmer. A stablehand of Imladris. Hunters from Bree. Cirdan._ He had even marked where Kanafinwe had found him.

Glorfindel tapped his finger on the map. “The cave where I found him,” he said.

Elrond nodded and marked it.

“Why do you have this?”

Elrond only shrugged. “I have one tracking Kanfinwe and one for Daeron as well.”

“I saw Lindir in the library.”

Elrond shook his head and chuckled. “I shall add that to my map,” he promised.

“Maeglin’s awake,” Glorfindel said. “He ate a bit.”

“I should check on him,” Elrond mused, folding away his map with a frown. “Does he seem well?”

“He was attacked by a bear,” Glorfindel said. “He spoke, a bit.”

Back in Maeglin’s room, the injured elf was staring out the window, his eyes blank. But he turned when they entered, watching them warily.

Glorfindel hung back as Elrond moved closer, sitting beside him and reaching for his arm. “May I?” he asked gently.

Maeglin nodded, allowing Elrond to unwrap his arm and study the wound. “It seems to be healing well,” he said softly.

“He may be able to help your leg,” Glorfindel called. “But he needs your permission.”

Elrond turned sharply, giving Glorfindel a stern look over his shoulder.

“He’s already in pain,” Glorfindel explained. “What’s a bit more?”

“A bit more pain isn’t what worries me,” Elrond replied. “He’s still siphoning your energy, even if you haven’t realized it. If he takes anymore, it could kill you both.”

Maeglin gave Glorfindel a nasty look, as though he was angry that Glorfindel had dared to let him have his strength. “I hadn’t noticed,” Glorfindel confessed.

“He is,” Elrond said. “I had suspected it, but he’s improved monumentally since I left you with him.” 

“How do I stop?” Maeglin rasped.

“You don’t,” Elrond replied, rewrapping the wound. “Not unless it starts to harm Glorfindel. At the moment, it’s keeping you alive.”

Maeglin didn’t seem happy about that, but he said nothing else, sinking into the bed and closing his eyes. Elrond turned back to Glorfindel. “Can you stay with him a bit longer?”

The guard nodded hesitantly. “Of course,” he said.

“If you begin to feel weak, come for me immediately,” Elrond said. “I can break the connection and still keep him alive, but he would heal far more slowly.”

“I’ll be fine,” Glorfindel promised, dropping back into the chair beside Maeglin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Maeglin is something of a Kleptomaniac because he wants attention. Hence stealing the honey in Gondolin. 
> 
> I’m adding that to my drabble list.


End file.
